What makes Monsieur Ripley such a terrifying literary invention is not his violence—it is his banality. Highsmith famously inverted the crime genre. There are no ticking clocks or car chases. Instead, we watch Tom worry about the price of firewood while casually orchestrating a murder.

The shift from Mr. Ripley to Monsieur Ripley is a shift in class and confidence. In the first novel, Tom is an American nobody—a sociopathic grifter living in New York, scamming the IRS and sleeping in a squalid boarding house. When he is sent to Italy to coax the playboy Dickie Greenleaf home, he operates from a place of desperation. His murders (Dickie, then Freddie Miles) are reactive, clumsy, and soaked in panic.

Whether you know him as "The Talented Mr. Ripley" or simply "Monsieur Ripley," the character remains a masterpiece of literary and cinematic horror. He is the nightmare version of the American Dream: a self-made man who literally makes himself out of someone else.

In the 2024 series, this dynamic is even stranger. Andrew Scott’s Ripley is oddly charming in his politeness. He says "please" and "thank you" even while disposing of evidence. This juxtaposition of civility and brutality is the core of the character.

We are conditioned to root for the hero, but Ripley flips the script. We find ourselves rooting for Ripley to get away with it. We root for him because his desire—a better life, freedom from poverty, an appreciation for art and beauty—is relatable, even if his methods are abhorrent.

The title Monsieur is critical. Tom Ripley despises the raw, capitalistic hustle of America. He craves European aesthetics, manners, and impunity. In France, particularly in Highsmith’s adopted homeland, class is armor. A well-dressed man in a fine château is above suspicion.